not tonight
by MrsMorrisonCobain
Summary: AH. my point of view on their relationship...


I walk over to his table, stumbling over an empty beer bottle on the floor. _Ugh_. I hold onto the chair next to me to keep from falling face first, and I scowl. _Why did I wear heels again? Oh, right, he fucking likes them. _ Once I've steadied myself, I keep going, never taking my eyes of the prize, or rather prey.

I clutch onto the bottle of rum on my hand as I feel all eyes on me, burning the back of my head. Someone wolf-whistles, but stops in the middle. I take a side glance and glare at the darkness that surrounds me. He should have known better. Whoever it is. _Fool_. The crowd stirs, and I can see some movement out of the corner of my eye. _Should have known better_. I'm a couple feet away, but I can smell his cologne already. One Million. I smile as I place my hand on the back on his neck and play with the soft strands there. I'm pretty sure I told him it was my favourite.

He turns around, startled, and not very happy at the interruption, but as soon as his eyes land on mine, his gaze softens and he smiles. It's a small smile, most people wouldn't even notice it, but I can see it in his eyes; I smile back.

He pulls out a chair for me, and takes the bottle from my hand. At first I'm reluctant to relinquish my libations, but no matter how much I try to hide it, I'm putty in his hands and pretty soon I give in.

Conversation flows, and people keep their distance. To a bystander it might look like we're arguing, but the blatant banter no more than a façade. It's all part of the image we try to keep up, to remain detached and invulnerable, but when were together, we both know that's not real. If the observers only took a minute to really watch us, they'd see right through it. I act uninterested and haughty. He pretends he doesn't notice, like he's thinking about something else.

"Uh, excuse me, it was me who drove his father's collection Mustang off a cliff," he reminds me.

I scoff.

"You didn't have a scratch afterwards, tough guy," I smirk. He smiles sheepishly. "And I'm not sure if you remember, but it was _me_ who was by your side the minute I found out. Now, I might be wrong, but it was also me who made sure there still are thirty-seven of those in the world, not thirty-six. And Daddy didn't even notice the difference."

He bows graciously, and knows not to try his luck. He'll lose. They all lose. No one ever beats me. I'm a black widow. I chew up men and dispose of them as I see fit. No one can fight it; no one can resist me.

He brags about how he went to that _Los Campesinos!_ concert last month, and met Ellen and ended up partying with them the whole week. In turn, I tell him about the time I met Eric Burdon at a music festival.

"Have you heard _Spill the Wine?_" he asks.

I shake my head, no. Of course I have. Eric Burdon, founder of _The Animals_, famous for their hit _House of the Rising Sun_, later formed the group _War_, and really hit it big with _Spill the Wine_. I know everything there is to know about Eric; I even know _he_ loved him. See, I wouldn't have mentioned him otherwise. He should know by now that every move I make is calculated beforehand for effect.

I let him think he's beat me, I pretend he's teaching me something I didn't know.

When he asks if I want to go to his car listen to it, I smile on the inside. _Score_. Right where I wanted him.

I nod and stand up, and he stands up as well. As we walk to the door, his hand swiftly makes its way to the small of my back, and even if I can't see, I still know all the girls around me are scowling. I feel their eyes burn into the back of my head again. I press my body against his and cuddle up to him. _Can't you see? He's mine_._ All mine_._ No use even trying_.

"You still driving that old piece of shit?" I whisper in his ears, and those who can't hear think it's something seductive. And maybe it is; after all, it is _us_.

"Don't talk about her like that," he defends, and I have to suppress a sigh. I hate _her_.

He reaches in his pocket and takes out a familiar looking key, but it's not the one I expected. As the light reflects off the tiny silver horse, I freeze.

"Come on," he chuckles, pushing on my back gently.

He opens up the passenger door for me and then walks over to the driver side. I take those few seconds to sink into the soft leather seats, and as soon as he inserts the key, the music blasts though the speakers. _The Velvet Underground_. Should have expected it. He expertly navigates his device, and changes the song.

Eric Burdon's voice fills my ears, and I sink even further into the seat.

"Why did you bring your dad's Mustang?"

"Who said it was his?"

"We've been through this already. It's your dads. You crashed it 4 years ago, when you were 16 remember? There's only 37 of these left in the world. The car alone, with no improvements, all original parts is worth well over a hundred grand. There's no way you bought one."

He just stares ahead.

"And don't think I didn't recognize the sound of that motor. I chose it, remember? I practically re-built this baby after you trashed it."

"Well, it's mine now," he whispers softly, and I can hear a bitter undertone in his voice.

We remain silent, and a couple songs later he reaches over, grazing my arm. I move slightly, and it seems as if he suddenly realized he's not alone.

"Y-you don't mind right," he points to the bag next to my leg, and I wonder how I didn't see it before.

He reaches out, and I can tell he lets his arm linger on my leg as he picks up the bag. _Men_.

"You don't mind if I light up a joint right?" he asks revealing the contents of the bag.

I nod, trying to act nonchalant, and I can't tell if he sees thought it or not, but he proceeds. It catches me off guard, but I try not to let him know.

He rolls it up carefully, and reaches for the _Zippo_ next to the gearshift. He lights it up, and takes a long drag. He seems out of it for a couple seconds, just drowning himself in the music, and when finally reacts he holds it out to me. I stare at it and he chuckles.

"Right, you don't smoke."

"I never said that," I defend myself.

I reach out for it, but he pulls his hand away. "I'd rather you didn't."

"I want to," I counter.

So I take a drag, and I can see he looks at me with adoring eyes. I ignore it, my body overwhelmed by the new sensations. I run my hand down the smooth leather seat, and feel every single crack. I listen to the music, a whole new dimension opening up to my ears, and my ears only. It's _What Time is Love_, by _The KLF_ now. Colours seem so much more livid now, and I can't really explain what I'm feeling.

"You didn't have to do that," he says, and he sounds sad, disappointed almost. "You've got nothing to prove to me. I don't know why you keep trying to be someone you're not around me, especially when you know I can see right through you."

I don't reply. I'm mesmerized by everything around me, but I can still focus on him.

"I know I do it too, but not when it's only you and me."

I lift the spliff to my mouth, and just as I'm about to take another drag he takes it way.

I whine a little. _Fucker_. But I get over it. He chucks it out the window and looks down at his feet.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that. I don't know why I did."

"It's fine. We can roll up another one," I reply. "You can teach me."

"Wh-no!" he looks at me remorsefully. "I didn't mean that. I meant bringing you here and offering you pot. I'm sorry."

He drops his gaze again, and there's something about him that makes me want to comfort him.

"Don't be," I whisper as I hold onto his hand.

Suddenly, I'm moving onto the back seat because I'm tired and want to lie down. We chat carelessly, but it's not out usual banter this time. There's no pretending; no images to keep up. No façades to keep the outside world away.

Suddenly, he's leaning next to me and his face slowly inches closer. I crash my lips into his before he does. I show him how much I want him. He is tender at first, careful like I'll break at any moment, and I push for more. His hands roam my body now, all signs of chivalry gone. All that matters is what we want now, and we want each other.

And then I break it off. I get up and push him off me, opening the door and waiting for him. He doesn't move.

"Are you coming or what?"

He doesn't hesitate. He runs after me; I'm not even sure if he locks the car, but he catches up with me. We walk through the crowds again, and now everyone glares. We glare back.

I push though the crowds and make it into my house without bumping into anyone who might stop me. I smile at him and we walk hand in hand to my room. As we lock the door it almost seems like our lips lock simultaneously. We eventually pull away to breath, but his lips never leave my neck, the hollow beneath my ear. We stumble towards the bed, and he starts peeling off my shirt.

He stops. Pulls away and backs off.

"What wrong?"

"I-I'm sorry," he whispers.

I stare at him, dumbfounded.

"I can't do this."

"This?" I ask.

"Yes, this. Not under these circumstances. Maybe when you're not high, when I know you won't regret it."

"_I_ know I won't regret it."

"I need to be sure," he backs away even more.

I crumble into a heap on the bed. I cry and wish he'd just go, but he doesn't.

It's then that I realize he's right. We can't regret this. This is too good to mess up by acting on impulse. He sleeps with me that night. It's the first time he ever does, and I love the way it feels to have him hold me in his strong arms. I fall asleep to him stroking my arm, and he wakes up before I do. He's looking at me when I open my eyes, and he blushes a little when he realizes I caught him.

"Em," I smile.

"Mornin' Rosie," he replies, smiling. And its biggest, brightest smile I've ever seen him give, and I love it.


End file.
